


A Gradual Decline.

by Itty_Bitty_Albatross



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itty_Bitty_Albatross/pseuds/Itty_Bitty_Albatross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, four things hidden in workplaces.  Cecil/Carlos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gradual Decline.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own WTNV, or Have You Seen Me Lately? by Counting Crows.

Or, four things hidden in workplaces. 

 

There’s a handheld mirror, in a drawer, behind the electro-magnetic microscope.   
To be perfectly frank, Carlos can be vain. He likes knowing what he looks like. And, the mirror comes in handy for when you think there’s a smudge on your face or that weird rash that’s triggered by saying the word ‘carrot-top’ three times in one day.   
But he remembers the twitch to Cecil’s eye, the funny twist in his lip, on that first morning Cecil walked to the kitchen past the mirror in the foyer, tailing Carlos. He remembered catching a reference to Cecil’s mother and mirrors, and he couldn’t get a hand on a recording of that day’s news cast, when he had missed the broadcast having been staking out a house that didn’t exist. He remembered running a hand and then his lips along a patch of stubble on the side of Cecil’s jaw and figuring the reason it was there was because Cecil didn’t go near mirrors, and he asked about it.   
When he knew—and after Cecil left his house for a fresh pair of clothes before going to work—he took down all the mirrors in his house and stacked them in the back of the closet for later disposal.   
Except for the little handheld, tucked where Cecil had no reason to ever see it, because some things weren’t worth keeping around anyway, even if his hair was a little mussed when he went in to work. 

 

There’s a homicidal monkey swimming in cords.   
There’s a little, wooden statue in the corner of Cecil’s table, neck deep in radio cords. It’s not exactly hidden, but out of the way, you know? He picked it up from a little shop back when he used to travel. It was supposed to give the owner good fortune and protection from eels, which may have been a typo, come to think of it.   
Sure, it was superstition. Sure, superstition was for those with less rational minds and the correct forms. The little monkey-like figure holding the dagger was cute, though.   
Carlos didn’t put much credence in superstition. That was okay, because Cecil kept good care of the monkey (named Jessica, today) and that monkey would give Cecil good fortune, which meant taking care of Carlos so that the two could be happy, so Carlos didn’t have to believe in the mystical powers of a carved piece of wood.   
The monkey sat there, day after day, smiling at the interns as if deranged. The interns complained about it winking at them, sometimes, but the investigation into that never got very far because the interns that reported it kept going missing or dying.   
There may be something to that, actually.   
No, that’d be weird. Like, a piece of wood being able to wink at interns before they died? Not likely. 

 

There’s a flask in a holder under the roller-chair.   
It’s filled with grain alcohol. Since the ban of wheat and wheat by-products, Carlos has been stashing it there. He takes a sip approx. twice a month. So far, he has not been attacked by anything reptilian, mammalian or amphibian, except that homeless man in the park that may or may not have been an angel. The point is alcohol deriving from wheat properties seems to have escaped the phenomenon.   
Carlos mentioned that to Cecil once, and got a blank stare and a ‘but it’s wheat!’ in return, and his drinks went missing the next day when Cecil generously offered to make breakfast while Carlos showered.   
Note to self: either accompany Cecil in the kitchen or have him accompany you in the shower, as he’s not to be trusted amongst banned materials. He may just be trying to help, and being protective of his boyfriend, but Carlos is a scientist, and he knows the drinks are fine. 

 

There’s a disc in a case in the shelf in the studio.   
Cecil has been adding things to it in the past time.   
First, it was files of pictures. Subtle ones, where he snuck out a phone or a camera and snapped a photograph of Carlos. Carlos, eating a burger on a date, laughing at something in his own head he had yet to share. Carlos, stirring food on stovetop, in boxers. Carlos, exhausted and lying flopped out on the carpeted floor, wrapped up in a blanket by Cecil who worried about him getting cold on the floor but not willing to wake him when he smiled like that in his sleep. There were also pictures Carlos knew he took, and posed for. Like the one near the city hall, and the one in the station, where Carlos smiled at the camera and crossed his arms because he hated the way they swung awkwardly. Those were good pictures too, good memories.   
There’s an audio file on that disc too—Cecil had woken up to find no Carlos in his bed, which was annoying as always, but had first been curious, then intrigued, when he heard the melody.   
He snatched the recorder up and leaned up against the bathroom door, listening to the sound of Carlos, softly singing songs that suggested a 50% chance of rain. His voice was rough, and he missed sections of lyrics, but nothing had ever seemed more beautiful, more heart-wrenching, and more confessional than Carlos singing lyrics about someone who didn’t think themselves the same person.   
He clicked the recorder off when the shower switched off and he carefully laid it in a drawer, and later he put the file on the disc. He listens to it when he has that existential crisis’s that continue after he’s off air.   
“…And these days I feel like I’m fading away…like sometimes when I hear myself on the radio…have you seen me lately?...have you seen me lately?”


End file.
